Dancing with Death

by Amy Myers

  ‘I fear not. I have asked Peters to relieve Miss Drury and her companions in the gallery. It is no place for a woman, or a stranger, or an elderly man like Arthur. It seems likely to be a case of murder.’

  Gertrude gave a cry of horror. Murder belonged to the world of Dr Crippen and that madman who had killed William Terriss at his own stage door. Not to Wychbourne Court.

  ‘We need this affair to be handled carefully, Gertie,’ Gerald told her. ‘The local police are most agreeable to Scotland Yard’s involvement, especially as so many of our guests have come from London tonight. The local police would not welcome the responsibility.’

  ‘But the killer will surely be found quickly?’ Gertrude was appalled. ‘Perhaps it was a tramp – one of the hired footmen.’ She grasped eagerly at this theory.

  ‘And what if he is not found quickly, my dear? What if this madman is to be found among our own guests?’ He paused. ‘Or worse? That is a risk we cannot take.’

  Gertrude was even more shaken. What was Gerald hinting at? ‘A risk?’ she repeated faintly.

  The look on his face filled her with even more fear. ‘My love, whoever this killer proves to be, not only our guests but our home and family must be investigated. We need the expertise of Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Family, Gerald? You cannot think one of us murdered this man?’ Even as she said it she realized that the suspicions she had harboured for some time were shared with her husband, and that therefore the even worse possibility of their involvement in this murder existed. She had tried to spare Gerald from her fears but perhaps he had been trying to spare her.

  ‘Of course not,’ he replied, but without conviction, she thought. ‘Nevertheless, we must face the fact that the police will look into everything. I fear the commissioner was not pleased to be woken but he understood our position. A superintendent is coming immediately by motor car with their best officer and sergeant, together with their own photographer. They will be here before dawn and I’m sure matters will then move smoothly. You may have no fear of that.’

  Needn’t I? thought Gertrude despairingly. It was all very well for Gerald to put his faith in Scotland Yard, but suppose they discovered that her sudden fear about Charlie’s dance might be true, although it probably had nothing to do with the murder. Guilty and innocent would be investigated together and there could be many false trails trodden before the culprit was discovered. And what about Charlie’s family? There would be parents to consult. Should she offer them hospitality here? No, surely that would not be appropriate in the very house where their son had met his death? But on the other hand, if she did not make this offer they might consider the Ansleys uncaring or that they had something to hide. As indeed they might have. What should she do? The answer came to her. She would ask Nell. Nell would know.

  Curtain up, Gertie, she told herself. But this time it was on a tragedy, not a Gaiety Girls’ musical comedy. Tonight’s performance had brought not only death but might bring ruin and disgrace to the Ansley name.

  The lights were going out all over Europe, so the foreign secretary had said on the outbreak of war, Nell recalled, but on this catastrophe the lights were going up. They were blazing now and whatever ghosts Lady Clarice might have hoped to have seen would long since have retreated. The doctor had attended to confirm the death, and Nell had been free to leave the gallery after the arrival of first Mr Peters then the village constable to guard the body. Where should she go? She could not go back to her own room in the east wing until the Sevenoaks police had talked to her.

  She had washed the blood from her hands but how could she wash it from her mind? Then she remembered the supper room. What was happening to the buffet? With great relief at having a mission, however spurious, she left the great hall and made her way there. There it was – the array of mousses, jellies, sandwiches and savouries that she, Kitty and Michel had looked on with such pride earlier this evening. Those who had not attended the ghost hunt had, from the look of it, already sampled the supper, and no one was present now save for the hired footmen who must be agog to know what was going on but were unable to leave their posts.

  In the adjacent ballroom she could hear piano music, perhaps from one of Guy’s men, perhaps being played by Guy himself. The sound was muted and by the lack of conversation when she went in to listen it was having a calming effect. There were quite a few people in there but some, she thought, must have left, either with or without police sanction.

  When she returned to the supper room Mr Peters was there, which was a relief as she liked him and he was usually undemanding company. He didn’t look like the average butler. He wasn’t tall or particularly imposing – indeed, he was on the skinny side – only of medium height and sharp-featured. He was jolly good at his job, although tonight he looked as stricken as she felt after his vigil in the minstrels’ gallery.

  ‘That was a nasty shock for you, Miss Drury,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take some supper? You’ll feel better.’

  ‘Just at the moment, I feel I’ll never want to eat again.’

  ‘Brandy then or coffee. It’ll buck you up.’

  That was an idea. ‘It might buck everyone up,’ Nell suggested. ‘Let’s take both round to everyone.’ With the prospect of another mission, she felt better. She’d consult Lord and Lady Ansley immediately. She found them in the drawing room. No sign of the dowager thankfully, but Mr Fontenoy was with them. Surprisingly – but then convention had no place here tonight – Miss Checkam was sitting primly to one side. No Mr Briggs, of course. The noise and disturbance in the house this evening would have sent him out to listen to nightingales or watch the owls.

  ‘Coffee.’ Lady Ansley grasped the idea like a lifeline. ‘That would be splendid.’

  ‘For everyone,’ her husband confirmed.

  ‘Let’s take the garden route, Mr Peters,’ Nell suggested. To walk over the terrace and gardens to the kitchens would avoid her having to take the service corridor past the great hall where the gallery might still shelter its terrible burden.

  It was calmer outside. The stars looked like the sky’s lanterns, she thought, far away from the nightmare in progress in the great hall.

  ‘It was like this in the war,’ Mr Peters said, sharing her mood. ‘Didn’t seem right that the stars went on looking so peaceful up there even though hell was taking place down on earth. You’d be thinking of the Germans and how the same stars were looking down on them but we’d be going out to kill each other the next day. I ask you, Miss Drury, who’d want to kill Mr Charles? Must have been a mistake.’

  ‘No,’ Nell said dully. ‘No one would be up there with that dagger just by chance or use it by accident.’

  A silence, then at last Mr Peters replied as they reached the servants’ wing, ‘That dagger, Miss Drury. Lord Ansley identified it. It’s the one that hangs below the portrait of the first marquess. If you ask me, I’d say it was some practical joke went wrong. Why else would Mr Charles be up behind that screen? He couldn’t have been pushed in there dead. Too heavy. I should know. Handled enough dead bodies in the war.’

  Nell stared at him. ‘A joke? You mean set up by the family? Guests wouldn’t play one on their own.’ Then she realized with a sinking heart that he was right. It was far more likely to have been thought up by Lord Richard and his sisters. The joke must have been something to do with the ghost hunt.

  He hesitated then lowered his voice. ‘Speaking confidentially, Miss Drury, there was some joke or other set up in the library too. I was told by Lord Richard that it was part of a plot for the hunt.’

  ‘Probably to upset Lady Clarice,’ Nell said. ‘There was a groan heard in the hall when her group set off. That must have come from Mr Charles who would already have been behind the screen.’

  Mr Peters nodded. ‘To encourage her, no doubt.’

  ‘Unless,’ Nell said, her heart thumping, ‘he was crying out in agony.’ That was a terrible thought. Had the group misinterpreted the cry of a dying man?

  �
��No, Miss Drury,’ Mr Peters said comfortingly, ‘I heard that groan and it wasn’t the kind you’re thinking of.’

  Nell breathed more easily. It had been a joke, but one that had gone terribly wrong. The newspapers would make a fine story out of this. The Times might keep it discreet but others would be thrilled at the thought of a body found in the minstrels’ gallery of one of the finest homes in England.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mrs Fielding, still fully dressed, came bustling into the kitchen where Nell was busy putting kettles on the ranges, still warm from the supper preparations. ‘What are you two doing here at this hour?’ she asked sharply.

  Mr Peters swelled with importance. ‘One of the guests has been found dead, my dear,’ he told her with great solicitude. The endearment was a sign that he was off duty, Nell recognized. Never would he have the temerity to address Mrs Fielding thus during working hours. But then at a time like this how could working hours be defined? ‘Murdered,’ Mr Peters added lugubriously.

  Mrs Fielding gaped. ‘In Wychbourne Court?’ she screeched. ‘You’re having me on, Freddie.’

  ‘Miss Drury found him,’ Mr Peters added. ‘We’re here for refreshments required in the house.’

  Mrs Fielding swung round to stare at her, as though suspecting Nell was up to no good by such a move. She did not deliver one of her usual blasts, though, merely an: ‘Into my still-room, both of you. We’ll organize it from there and use the cups from the breakfast-room servery.’ That settled, ‘Who was it?’ she asked as they followed her to her sanctum. ‘You’re sure it wasn’t one of the family?’

  ‘No,’ Nell reassured her, intrigued by Mrs Fielding’s use of ‘Freddie’. Such informality suggested rather more than a working arrangement. ‘It was Mr Parkyn-Wright.’

  Mrs Fielding was aghast. ‘Mr Charles? He’s Lord Richard’s friend and Lady Helen’s had her eye on him.’

  ‘You wouldn’t think so tonight,’ Mr Peters contributed. ‘Our Mr Charles was dancing with that Miss Elise Harlington. Lord Richard couldn’t get a leg in edgewise. Nor Lady Helen.’

  ‘I said he was a so-and-so,’ Mrs Fielding declared triumphantly.

  Mr Peters disappeared to his pantry to organize glasses and brandy and, following Mrs Fielding’s orders, Nell made her way to the breakfast room to prepare trolleys for serving coffee. Passing the open door to the great hall, she glimpsed two police constables on duty inside and another up on the gallery, together with a policeman with a camera. They looked like alien intruders into the world of Wychbourne Court, as alien as murder itself. She hadn’t known Mr Charles well as she’d only been here for a year, but he couldn’t have deserved this fate.

  When the trolleys were ready, Nell made her way to the drawing room with Mrs Fielding, determined not to be left out, following in her footsteps. Mr Peters was already there with brandy for those who wanted it. Lord Richard and his sisters had now joined their parents, the fancy dress costumes looking woefully out of place. All three seemed dazed with shock. The dowager was now with Lord and Lady Ansley, but thankfully Mr Fontenoy had moved to the far end of the room to comfort Lady Clarice. Precedence should have sent Nell to Lord and Lady Ansley first, but tonight, Nell decided, Lady Clarice was in more urgent need of coffee.

  Mr Fontenoy took a cup for her. ‘You’ll feel better with this, Clarice.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Lady Clarice was weeping. ‘That poor man. But what was he doing hiding behind the screen? Didn’t he realize that he would scare the ghosts? They took their revenge.’

  Mr Fontenoy cleared his throat. ‘He might,’ he ventured, ‘have been responsible for the groan we heard.’

  Lady Clarice stared at him. ‘What do you mean, Arthur? That was Sir Thomas moaning.’

  Mr Fontenoy did not reply and Nell hastily poured coffee and handed him a cup. ‘Mr Peters told me that the groan could not have been one of pain,’ she whispered to him as she pushed the trolley away, hoping that Lady Clarice was too preoccupied with Sir Thomas to hear.

  Mr Fontenoy immediately rose to follow her. ‘I agree,’ he said gravely. ‘The groan was definitely one of a young man intent on pretending to be a ghost. There were cadences in it, a true moan rather than one of pain and fear.’

  She swallowed. ‘Thank you, Mr Fontenoy.’

  When she reached Lord and Lady Ansley, Lord Richard and his sisters had moved to the window seat and there was a stranger with their parents, a burly, comfortable-looking man who wasn’t clad in evening dress.

  ‘It was Miss Drury who found the body, Chief Inspector,’ Lord Ansley said as Nell handed his coffee to him.

  Of course. He wouldn’t be wearing uniform – he was a detective from the local police, Nell realized. He looked almost reassuring in his very ordinariness, if anything could be so termed tonight.

  He smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Miss Drury. We’ll need a word with you later.’

  How much later? she wondered despairingly. ‘Are any of us allowed to leave?’ she asked boldly.

  ‘Everyone’s to stay for the moment.’ Comfortable looking he might be, but his words brought home to her that he was here with a job to do.

  She was about to turn away when Lady Ansley rose to her feet. ‘Miss Drury, there are one or two household matters to discuss.’ Her voice was trembling. ‘Shall we go into the conservatory?’

  What the devilled onions was all this about? Nell thought wearily. Her Ladyship looked as exhausted as Nell felt. ‘It’s the guests, Nell,’ she burst out when they had left the drawing room. ‘They’ll have to stay, won’t they? How can we manage?’

  All of them? was Nell’s immediate thought. That just wasn’t possible. Then reason came back. ‘Guests from London who aren’t here for the weekend can either return there once the police have seen them or stay here if there’s special need.’ She gulped. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Fielding to look after it.’ A momentary guess at Mrs Fielding’s reply flashed by her.

  ‘Oh, would you, Nell? And then’ – Lady Ansley looked utterly despairing – ‘there are Charlie’s parents to consider.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Nell said firmly. ‘They’ll come then.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lady Ansley said thankfully. ‘And they might not want to stay here. But there’s something else, Nell. Something that might affect this terrible affair. It’s in the library.’

  That curtain, again, Nell thought as she followed Lady Ansley out of the conservatory and across to the west wing. She could see the ballroom was fully lit again now, but when they reached the library it was in almost complete darkness. Some moonlight penetrated through the windows, just enough to see the mysterious curtained-off area of the room.

  ‘It’s hiding a sheet of glass in front of the balcony and a large mirror and some kind of light below,’ Lady Ansley told her unhappily, tweaking the curtain aside to let Nell see at least the mirror propped up at an odd angle.

  ‘Do you know what it’s for?’ Nell was beginning to feel too tired to cope.

  ‘I’m afraid it might have been a joke thought up by my son and daughters. It was for a Pepper’s Ghost illusion – you remember there was a craze for it?’

  Nell had heard of it and had a dim recollection of having seen one at a fair years ago.

  ‘This would be nearly at the end of the ghost hunt for Lady Clarice’s group.’ Lady Ansley sighed. ‘I suppose the plan would have been to create a ghost up there on the balcony.’ She pointed to the narrow balcony running along the length of the library wall to give access to the higher bookshelves. ‘Richard with his military uniform would have been the ghost, I imagine, with his mirror image reflected up there,’ she added unhappily.

  ‘It didn’t happen, though,’ Nell said in the hope of comforting her. ‘Our group just walked through the library and the real target, Lady Clarice’s group, didn’t reach that point. But I think that the other part of the joke – the groans – was to be carried out by Mr Parkyn-Wright and that’s why he was behind the screen.’

  ‘Oh, Nell.’ Lady Ansley began to cry.
‘Isn’t it terrible? That means that at least Richard and probably all three of my children knew Charlie was up there, you see. No one else did.’

  She broke off but she had no need to go further. ‘They could have told many other guests where he was,’ Nell comforted her. ‘You don’t have to worry,’ she added gently. ‘Just tell the police everything you know. They won’t suspect Lord Richard as he was Charlie’s great friend, nor Lady Helen, who was very fond of him.’

  Lady Ansley did not reply for a moment or two but then said bravely, ‘Of course not. But just in case, Nell,’ she added hopefully, ‘can’t you find out what really happened so we can be sure the police don’t get it wrong?’

  Nell reeled in horror. ‘Me? But it’s the police’s job.’

  ‘You know us, though,’ Lady Ansley pleaded. ‘They don’t. You’re so good at solving problems. It might have been anyone – the guests, neighbours, servants perhaps.’

  Easy to blame the servants, Nell thought wryly. But then Lady Ansley could be right, she supposed, even though some of the servants had never set foot in the main part of the house and would hardly have rushed in to kill someone behind a screen they didn’t know existed. Nevertheless, Mr Peters knew about the jokes being played on Lady Clarice and some of the servants did have access to the main house.

  Including her – and she had found the body.

  ‘Will you do it, Nell?’ Lady Ansley asked. ‘You notice things, you put things together, and,’ she hesitated, ‘you do care what happens to us just a little? Will you?’

  Nell surrendered. ‘I’ll try.’ She had pushed away her instant fear: suppose it was one of the family?

  Time, which had passed so quickly earlier in the day, now dragged by. Nell couldn’t go to bed until the police had interviewed her but there had been no sign of their doing so, although it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. She sank down in the conservatory, which she seemed to have to herself. Remaining guests and family must be dozing elsewhere, she supposed. She had told Mrs Fielding what might lie in store for them, and surprisingly instead of blaming Nell she had rallied to the challenge of readying rooms for possible unexpected guests at short notice in the middle of the night. Whether she had finished the task or fallen asleep in her room in the east wing, Nell neither knew nor cared. Mr Peters must be at Lord Ansley’s side, Mr Briggs was not to be seen and Miss Checkam was last seen assisting Mrs Fielding.